


Basketball Shorts and Highlighters

by sffan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The UST between Derek and Stiles finally reaches a tipping point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basketball Shorts and Highlighters

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for S3. Takes place somewhere between "Chaos Rising" and "Motel California" in a version of the universe where Derek/Stiles actually happens.
> 
> Heavily influenced by those Tumblr images of Hoechlin in the basketball shorts and Stiles' oral fixation.
> 
> Big huge thanks, as always, to emungere for the beta.

Stiles is at Derek’s loft doing research, instead of at home, because he really didn’t want to explain to his father his sudden interest in human sacrifice. He’s doing his best to focus on the papers in front of him, rather than on Derek, who Stiles can just see out of the corner of his eye, putting himself through a brutal workout in nothing but a pair of clingy basketball shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Derek’s little grunts of exertion are not helping Stiles’ concentration issues. Not one little bit. 

This thing between him and Derek has been building pretty much since the day they met, but lately there seems to be an added edge to it – a frisson of _more_ every time they look at each other. Stiles knows he isn’t imagining it, knows Derek feels it too, sees it in his eyes. It’s ill-advised, inappropriate, _illegal_ , and Stiles, quite honestly, just doesn’t give a fuck. His father is ten years older than his mother, the only difference is that she was twenty when they met. He just can’t figure out how to take it past heated looks and not-entirely casual contact. He can’t bring himself to make the first move. He can’t be the one to cross this boundary. He’s just not brave enough. 

Stiles frowns, realizing how far off his research his attention has drifted. He twirls the pencil between his fingers and chews on the highlighter in his mouth, drawing himself back inward and downward, and re-reads the paragraph in front of him for the second time. 

Between one line and the next, there’s a tugging on the stool he’s perched on, and, suddenly, he’s spun around. Stiles flails his arms and drops the pencil. Before he has a chance to regain his equilibrium, the highlighter is pulled out of his mouth with a pop, and then Derek’s mouth is on his. This kiss is nothing, _nothing_ like the one he’d gotten from Heather. Her kiss had been soft and sweet, and, despite what she wanted from him, innocent. This kiss is hard, hot, and insistent. Stiles feels it in his _toes_. After a second or two of ‘holy shit Derek is kissing me’ brain freeze, Stiles gets with the program and kisses Derek back.

Derek’s hands cup his face, tilting his head to a better angle, as he continues to plunder Stiles’ mouth. Stiles slides off the stool, hands reaching out to steady himself as his legs go wobbly. As his hands curl around Derek’s body – smooth skin pulled tight over the highly-defined muscles, hot and slightly slick from his workout – Stiles gasps. Somehow, he’d forgotten that Derek was half naked. Derek takes advantage of Stiles’ open mouth and deepens the kiss. As their tongues brush for the first time, Derek makes a broken noise and he pulls Stiles closer – one hand curled around the back of his neck and the other sliding under his t-shirt, burning against the small of his back.

With their bodies pulled tight together, Stiles can’t help but become completely aware of the hard press of Derek’s dick right up against his own, and Stiles is hit with the sudden knowledge that Derek is not some fumbling teenaged virgin. He’s older; he’s probably got tons of experience. He probably wants to have sex. With him. Right now. And in that moment, Stiles realizes something very important about himself, so he pulls away from Derek’s devastating mouth and gasps out, “Wait, stop.”

Derek draws back slowly to look at him. “Stiles?” The hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head loosens and slides down to his shoulder. Derek looks like sex incarnate: blown pupils, flushed skin, lips soft and wet from their kisses. Stiles takes a deep breath. 

“I don’t think I’m, I’m not sure if I - ” Stiles stumbles and stutters, completely unable to get the words to come out in any coherent fashion, dying (he’s certain) of embarrassment, feeling like an idiot for trying to say what he’s trying to say. He knew before, with Heather, with his ridiculous request to the entire boys’ locker room, but he had pushed the knowledge away, too excited at the prospect of finally getting to have sex, and too scared to die because he was still a virgin, but the more time he had to think about it, the more he knew he just couldn’t. He just wasn’t ready yet.

Derek goes completely still for a second. Stiles can practically see the walls inside Derek’s head going back up as his expression starts to flatten out, and then Derek loosens his grip on Stiles and begins to step away. Stiles panics. This isn’t what he wanted. Or what he meant. He grabs Derek’s arms to stop him.

“Wait, wait. I don’t mean stop touching me!” Stiles continues to fumble for words. “I want you to touch me. Oh god, do I ever, just not, I, shit. I just don’t think I’m ready for, you know, sex. Like _sex_ sex. But I’m good for other things. Other things that are sex-like, but...” 

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts quietly. “If you can’t say it, you’re not ready to do it.”

“Oh my god, you did not just say that! You did not just PSA me!” Stiles exclaims, rolling his eyes hard. Derek just stares back at him. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles as the silence stretches out.

“Fine, fine,” Stiles says and he can feel his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “I want you to touch my dick, jerk me off. I would also really like to do the same to you. Like you have _no_ idea how much. It’s a fantasy of mine, second only to – ” This time, Derek interrupts him with his lips.

It’s like a switch has gone off – the kiss is wild and frantic, mouths slipping apart, just to crash back together again as they clutch and pull at each other. Stiles’ shirt is up and off him in a blink, Derek’s hands huge and firm against him as they slide against his skin. They make their way blindly towards the bed in the middle of the room.

Somehow, Stiles ends up flat on his back naked, with Derek, still in his shorts, obscenely tented around his erection, straddling him. Derek curls over Stiles’ body as he leans down to kiss him. Derek brushes his thumbs firmly over his nipples, and Stiles gasps and arches into the touch as Derek grins against his mouth. Derek teases him with gentle fingers as he leaves soft, wet kisses down Stiles’ neck and chest, as he makes his way downwards replacing his fingers with his mouth, licking and sucking until Stiles is writhing and breathless and his cock is leaking steadily against his stomach.

Derek’s mouth returns to Stiles’ as his hand drifts down to Stiles’ cock. At the first touch of Derek’s hand on him, Stiles squeaks out, “Oh god.” He always knew it would feel good to have someone else touch his dick, but he had no idea it would feel _this_ good. It’s intense, and amazing, and overwhelming, and he’s shaking as Derek’s hand tightens around him and starts to stroke with the perfect amount of pressure and speed, thumb brushing right against that little bundle of nerves that makes pleasure zing through him. Stiles can’t stop the sounds spilling out his mouth or the sharp, gasping breaths he pants out as his orgasm builds, any more than he can stop the way his hips move in time with Derek’s hand.

“Derek, oh fuck, Derek, I’m going to – ” Stiles’ whole body locks up, and his back arches right off the bed as spurt after spurt of come splatters all over his stomach and halfway up his chest. Derek strokes him through it, thumb sliding slowly over the head of his cock, rubbing at the slit, as more come slowly dribbles out, until Stiles collapses under him, shaking with aftershocks.

“Oh my god, get down here and kiss me,” Stiles says breathlessly, reaching up to pull Derek down on top of him. Derek rolls them onto their sides and they trade slow, wet kisses while Stiles tries to stop twitching.

“That was _awesome_ ,” Stiles pronounces after he catches his breath, grinning broad enough that his dimples appear. He kisses Derek again and starts sliding his hand down Derek’s chest. Derek’s fingers curl around his when he gets to his stomach, stopping their downward journey.

“You don’t have to,” Derek says quietly, his voice gentle.

Stiles laughs and grins at Derek. “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve been waving your dick at me all morning in these shorts of obscenity. Do you think I’d give up my chance to get my hands on it?”

While Derek looks at him in a cross between confusion and shock, muttering something about ‘distractions and fucking oral fixations’, that Stiles pays no attention to because he’s too busy tugging at the waistband of Derek’s shorts until Derek gets the hint and wriggles out of them. Before he’s even all the way out of them, Stiles wraps his hand around Derek’s cock. If there’s anything Stiles could claim to be an expert at, it’s jerking off. He’s also watched a fuck-ton of porn, and he uses every trick he’s ever seen to get Derek off. The ‘research’ had apparently paid off, since it doesn’t take long before Derek is clutching at his arm tightly enough to leave bruises and gasping, “Fuck, Stiles, _fuck_ ,” in a broken voice against his shoulder as he shudders through his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” Derek says shakily, looking completely wrecked. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

Stiles grins wickedly and says, “Trade secret.”

Derek laughs and shakes his head. He leans in for a kiss, and Stiles yawns in his face. 

“Sorry, sorry. Orgasms make me sleepy.” Suddenly unsure of himself, Stiles starts to sit up and says, “I should go – ” Derek stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Or, you could stay, have a nap with me, and then when we wake up, you can tell me about that other fantasy of yours,” Derek says, with a tiny smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

Stiles smiles. “Or I could do that.” He settles back down next to Derek.


End file.
